The Phoenix
by Crimson Tides
Summary: Quoth the phoenix, "Dumbledore!" -- A parody of The Raven. R&R!


Disclaimers: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own The Raven. Well, anybody with a brain would realize that I didn't own The Raven, 'cause the Poe is long gone. R&R please.

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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,   
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten wars,   
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,   
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the dormitory door.   
"'Tis some Weasley," I muttered, "tapping at the dormitory door—  
Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,   
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the common room floor.   
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow   
From my books surcease of remembrance—remembrance for the plotting Voldemort—  
For the evil and vindictive wizard whom the Deatheaters name Voldemort—  
Who's nameless here for evermore. 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each scarlet curtain   
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;   
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,   
"'Tis some Weasley entreating entrance at the dormitory door—  
Some late Weasley entreating entrance at the dormitory door;   
This it is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,   
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;   
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,   
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at the dormitory door,   
That I scarce was sure I heard you—" here I opened wide the door.  
Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,   
fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;   
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,   
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Voldemort!"  
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "You-Know-Who!"  
Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the dormitory turning, all my soul within me burning,   
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.   
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at the window lattice:   
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-   
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;   
'Tis the owls and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and   
flutter, in there stepped a stately phoenix of the saintly days of yore;   
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed   
he; 

  
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above the dormitory door-   
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above the dormitory door-   
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this fiery bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,   
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.   


"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no   
craven, Ghastly grim and ancient phoenix wandering from the Nightly shore- 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"  
Quoth the phoenix, "Dumbledore." 

Much I marveled this ungainly poultry to hear discourse so plainly,   
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;   
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being   
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above the dormitory door—   
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above the dormitory door,   
With such name as "Dumbledore." 

But the phoenix, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only   
that one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.   
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-   
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other owls have flown   
before—on the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."  
Then the bird said, "Dumbledore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,   
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,   
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster   
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—  
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore   
Of 'Dumble—Dumbledore'." 

But the phoenix still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,   
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and   
door; then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking   
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-   
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous poultry of yore   
Meant in croaking "Dumbledore." 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing   
To the phoenix whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;   
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining   
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,   
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,   
She shall press, eh, Dumbledore?

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer   
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.   
"Wench," I cried, "By Merlin, He hath lent thee—by these Deatheaters he   
hath sent thee…respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy nasty memories of Voldemort!   
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Voldemort!"  
Quoth the phoenix, "…Dumbledore?" 

"Prophet!" Said I, "thing of evil! Prophet still, if bird or if  
Deatheater!—"

  
"Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,   
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—  
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore—   
Is there- is there lip balm in Gilead? Tell me—tell me, I implore!"  
Quoth the phoenix, "Dumbledore!"

"Prophet!" Said I, "Thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or   
Deatheater!"  
By that veil that flutters before us—by that Merlin we both adore—  
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aiden,   
It shall clasp a sainted menhaiden whom the Deatheaters name Voldemort—  
Clasp a evil and vindictive maiden-looking wizard whom the Deatheaters name Voldemort."  
Quoth the phoenix, "Dumbledore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,   
upstarting—

  
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!   
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!   
Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the bust above the door!   
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my   
door!"

  
Quoth the Phoenix, "Dumbledore!"

And the Phoenix, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting   
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;   
And his eyes have all the seeming of a Deatheater's that is scheming,   
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the   
floor;   
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor   
Shall be lifted—DUMBLEDORE!

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Hope you enjoyed it! Don't forget to send your thoughts.


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